Yesterday I stopped. Stopping allowed some time for feelings to rise about flooding–my own and the many, many more from places near and far. The smaller sadness of my heart being broadened and deepened by the greater sadness of my neighbors flooded throughout our world.
Recently I’ve thought of the words of a friend who flooded for the first time from Harvey. My friend said that he had always loved the sound of waking to rain–but that quotidian joy had been destroyed by the new association of that sound and the feeling of stepping off his bottom steps into the waters of a flooded home. That’s what disasters and tragedies can do–take something we love and pair it with something painful.
When my friend wanted to go visit nearby waterfalls yesterday, I decided to stay in our lovely hotel and knit and tend to some flood matters in Houston.
As we approached the stunning beauty of the falls, I could feel my heart and soul fill with sadness at the same time my eyes were filled with the extravagant view of waterfall after waterfall after waterfall. Pain and strength and healing all at once.
This is where I stand. Between the suffering of Jesus and the light and joy of the resurrection. It is the place I am, and it is holy.
As we waited and waited and then waited some more for dessert to be served, good conversation with laughter was enjoyed. Turns out, the chef really did have to bake my cake! Halfway though enjoying it’s luciousness, we saw two photographers running through the lobby and outside the front door. Hurrying from our table, leaving our food behind, we went outside to see the green swirl and dance of the Northern lights.
If the cake hadn’t needed time to bake, we’d have missed the lights.
The suffering Jesus. The resurrected Christ.
And the place in between.